Aftermath
by Anemone Kurosaki
Summary: In the aftermath of a hunt, when the world is still sharp with adrenaline, Castiel's safest place to unwind is the Impala. It's on one of these nights that Cas finds himself connected with Dean in a way he hadn't been since he raised him from perdition. And Castiel is one-hundred percent sure that Dean would classify his thoughts as a "chick-flick moment". Destiel, smut.


Aftermath

Castiel loved the silence that came after a hunt. When the adrenaline still pumped through his veins, the world seemed sharper and his ears rang with the newness of it all. He liked the way the Winchesters brought him down from these moments; the way Sam would have him read pop culture magazines, or books set in the current era; or how Dean, proclaiming that books were the lamest way to unwind _ever_, would grab a sixer of beer, haul Cas out to the Impala and they'd drive.

Sometimes they'd only go a few blocks away, to a park for people watching, because cooped up in some skeevy motel room wasn't good for the soul, according to Dean. But in some towns, Dean knew of rushing streams nestled in a tree line, or secluded clearings where every star was visible. In these post-hunt moments, Castiel found that he felt safest in the Impala.

Tonight, in an open field somewhere in Minnesota, he found himself sprawled on the car's hood with Dean to his left and alcohol between them. The quiet pop of cooling metal and the low chorus of insects filled the lulls in conversation, when Dean would pop open a bottle or Cas tried to remember the exact formation of a star.

Dean broke the silence that came after Castiel, eyes half lidded and body warm from beer, finished telling him of how he was almost considered beautiful enough to be a constellation by Enoch, who named the stars.

"Dude wouldn't know beauty if it punched him in the face," the hunter said softly.

Cas smiled — he still wasn't used to the way those muscles contorted around Dean — fondly as he said, "This isn't my true form, you remember," and the tiniest flash of white hot light sparked in his eyes.

Dean chuckled, and only he would have that reaction at such a tiny display of angelic power. "Yeah, yeah. Chrysler Building height, I remember." He moved a little closer, scooting onto the splayed trenchcoat and pushing the now empty beer case to the ground. "But I don't share my pie with just anyone, y'know. I'm actually kinda shallow."

"Pie?" Castiel asked, confused only because he didn't remember stopping for pie.

"Yeah," Dean affirmed as he slid off the hood and over to the driver's door, all charming smile and confident stride. "Sam picked it up." He frowned slightly, causing the crinkles around his eyes to vanish and his brow to crease, and Cas filed this under _Expressions to Examine Later_. "Which means it could be cake, 'cause apparently I didn't teach him the difference."

The smile was back, eye crinkles and all, when he sidled back to the hood, and Cas found that he liked this expression the most. The world seemed lighter when Dean smiled. He was ninety-eight percent sure Dean would classify his thoughts as a "chick flick moment".

"Well, what d'y'know, he got it right," Dean beamed, pulling back the lid for Cas to see. The pie was golden brown, small dollops of whipped cream around it, and the sudden chill carried the scent of apple.

"Wanna eat in the car?" Dean asked. "We can't all be warmed by angelic grace."

"More by alcohol than grace," Cas murmured as he slid off the hood alongside Dean and into the Impala. With a turn of the key, heat warmed his face and low music came through the speakers.

"I used to have forks," Dean said as he searched the crevices of the Impala. "Hoarded 'em from diners. Dunno what Sam did with them, so today, pie's finger food." His sentence was punctuated with another smile that made Cas's heartbeat stutter, and he wasn't sure whether he should be worried about that or not.

"Barbaric," Cas chuckled.

"Resourceful," Dean corrected with a snort as he handed Cas a slice of pie.

The sugar and warmth coated his tongue, and he immediately lost himself in the flavor. There was nothing Castiel liked better than trying Dean's favorite pie flavors, and the list was extensive; apple pie ranked number two, held there by memories of his mother covered in flour, bustling around his tiny childhood kitchen, making the dessert that went with most family meals.

He was three bites into the large slice when Dean made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and Cas cocked his head to the side in question.

"You're wastin' it, man." Dean scolded.

Cas followed Dean's gaze down to his stomach where the material of his shirt — one of Dean's hand-me-down's, because Jimmy's suit had only survived so many sews with angelic needle and threads of Grace before it gave out — had bunched up, letting pie fall onto exposed skin. Before he could reach down and scoop up the pieces, Dean's tongue was snatching it up. He licked crumbs from his belly button, chased the drops of whipped cream from the soft skin, and the muscles jumped and rippled under his touch.

And suddenly Cas felt Deja vu, because they had been in similar situations before, with Dean placing too intimate touches for the "You're like a brother to me" speech he'd given Cas before, but backing off before they got anywhere near this.

Dean lifted his head, licking cream from the corner of his mouth. "Couldn't let it go to waste."

Castiel's breath was shaky. "Are you confusing reality and porn again?" He asked, half-jokingly, because he was pretty sure situations like this only happened in the badly written ones Dean never let him see. "Sam warned me that might happen."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Nice to know I'm a hot topic of conversation," he laughed. "But no, totally grounded in reality." Another lick to Castiel's exposed navel led him to believe otherwise.

The sensations that rushed through his body were dizzying. Rapid breath, pounding heart, and the slow heat that Dean's tongue spread across his skin almost made panic claw at his insides. But a feeling he recognized was making itself known in a part of him that wasn't previously particularly chatty. Need curled in his stomach and made its way to his cock, causing it to twitch to life and beg for attention.

Dean's tongue was gone from his stomach, licked clean of pie, and his eyes went from Castiel's pants to his face and down again. "Well," was all he said, and Cas couldn't decide whether the tone was amused or disgusted; his brain was cloudy.

He felt guilty, like Dean had caught him doing something horrible, which was irrational since Dean was the cause.

"Stop with the kicked puppy look!" Dean's tone was sharp and scolding, and Cas fought his facial expressions because the look wanted to deepen. He managed to wrestle it into something questioning.

Dean pulled himself back into a sitting position, pulling Castiel closer to him. "Remember when I told you I needed you?" He asked, as if Cas could forget their time in Purgatory. "I do. In more ways than just this, having you here. I need all of you, Cas, want all that you have to offer."

And Cas was one-hundred percent certain that this was the very definition of a "chick flick moment", but he tossed that thought aside because Dean was leaning in, and before he realized it, so was he, and the taste of apple pie was magnified.

That first kiss wasn't chaste by any standards. Dean's lips were pressed to his for mere seconds before the heat was back, and Cas opened his mouth to take it all in, because it warmed him in ways his Grace never could. Dean's tongue curled around his, sucking and massaging, gliding across his teeth and dipping into the indentations at the roof of his mouth. Passion and need radiated in it, and Castiel's fingers scrabbled in Dean's jacket and shirt, pulling him closer because the heat from his mouth wasn't enough; he needed all of his body heat.

"Easy there, tiger," Dean's breath was ragged, voice husky when he pulled back. His breath ghosted over Cas's lips and their foreheads rested against each other.

Castiel blinked and licked his lips. "Dean," he breathed, and he hoped it conveyed everything he was feeling. He had faith in his ability to make that name speak volumes — or at least that's what his siblings had always marveled at.

Dean's mouth pulled into a slow and easy smile, the one Cas had seen aimed at many women in bars. "You feel it too?"

"I feel…. Something," Cas affirmed, and he wished he could press himself closer to Dean.

Either Dean had a hidden psychic ability, or Castiel's desire was just that obvious. In a single tug, Cas was in his lap, Dean's hands in his hair and lips running down his neck. Each wet suck and gentle bite pulled sounds from deep within his throat, noises Castiel didn't know his vessel was capable of.

He tipped his head back, giving Dean's wandering mouth better access, and his fingers worked through Dean's hair, nails scratching the thin strands at the back of his neck. The contented moans that vibrated against Castiel's throat let him know he was doing something right.

It was a sudden thing when the heat became too much. It weighted down the air, and even Dean's voice was thick with it. His fingers dragged out of Dean's hair and tugged at the hem of his shirt, shoulders shrugging off his trenchcoat.

Dean's mouth left his skin with one long lick up to his jawline, connecting with the skin of his clavicle after he'd tossed his own shirt somewhere in the backseat.

Castiel felt his head hit the passenger door when Dean pinned him to the leather interior of the front seat. His back arched as the hunter's lips closed around a nipple and his fingernails lightly dragged down Cas's chest. The heat began to resurface the further Dean's mouth traveled. Need caused his cock to buck and strain against his pants, and he would've been embarrassed if Dean weren't in a similar state.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him when Dean's fingers popped the button of his jeans and pushed denim and boxers down past his knees. Burning want overtook him, pinpricks of light danced behind tightly closed eyelids, as Dean took Castiel's cock into his mouth. He bucked into the heat, and Dean swallowed him easily as he thrust himself deeper into his mouth, needing the heat to consume him.

Dean's lips slid off of him long enough to coat his fingers with saliva, and Cas didn't even have time to ask questions because Dean was pulling him around for better access and one finger was massaging muscles that had never been touched. It would've been simple, when it finally clicked in Castiel's brain, to loosen himself up with a thought, but as if sensing the buildup of Grace, Dean growled out, "Don't you dare." So he let Dean stretch him, and by the time the hunter was two fingers deep and sending sparks of pleasure throughout Castiel's body, the angel was a pliant pool of begging need.

Emptiness made his eyes crack open, and Dean was sliding up his body, eyes predatory and pupils blown. He imagined himself in a similar state; eyes glazed and mouth hanging open, chest heaving and begging Dean to do anything, whatever he saw fit, something that would make the need dissipate.

"C'mere," Dean breathed into his ear, and Cas let him pull him up, spin him around. Dean backed himself as far as the tight space of the Impala would allow, coaxed Castiel onto all fours and guided him back by the hips until his cock pushed into him. And Castiel was full again, connected with Dean in a way he hadn't been since he raised him from perdition. It wasn't as intimate as clutching a raw and wounded soul to his chest, but nothing he and Dean had ever been through made him feel like _this_.

Dean's name flowed from his lips like the most reverent prayer, and Dean whispered soft words into his ear.

"It's okay, baby," he murmured, licking the shell of Castiel's ear, "I got you." And his grip tightened on Cas's hips as he thrust deeper, causing his knees to buckle and his cock to find the slot where passenger and driver's seats met.

Cas ground into that spot, pressure and warm leather making that heat and need gnaw down his spine and curl throughout his stomach. Dean pulled him back up, and somewhere in the back of Castiel's mind, he wondered if it was because it would be difficult to remove semen from leather. But when Dean's hand closed around his cock, applying just enough pressure to make Cas choke on a moan and tremble with a want for release, he lost the ability to think.

"Dean," he gasped, because it felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to his cock, like his grace was building up to smite some powerful force, and part of his mind said that that was a possibility.

"Almost there, Cas," Dean panted. His thrusts weren't as rhythmic, and Castiel felt that he was hanging on by a thread. His thrusts became deeper, more languid as Castiel rocked his hips back to meet Dean's.

They had lost the ability to even form each other's names, only short moans and the creaking frame of the Impala was left to spur them on when Castiel finally let himself go. Warm strings of semen coated Dean's hand, and a few more sharp thrusts fought against Cas's clenched muscles had Dean coming hot and hard inside him, collapsing over the angel in a heaving, sated pile of boneless flesh.

When Dean had found the energy to roll them so that Castiel's head was on his chest and everything else was a tangle of limbs, he found that the speech center of his brain had blinked back into existence. He raised his head, caught Dean's eye and gave him a smile that he thought was a decent imitation of the one Dean charmed women with.

"I've given you everything," he said, index finger tracing the lines of Dean's anti-possession tattoo, and the oath he made Dean take long ago flooded back. "I give myself over wholly to you." And in the aftermath of Dean's laughter, Castiel pillowed his head on the hunter's chest and sank into safety.


End file.
